Dog in the Dark

Chapter One

“This is going to be more trouble than I’d hoped,” Magiere said as she stepped off the ship’s lowered walkway and halted upon the immense dock.

Everywhere about the Isle of Wrêdelyd’s great port were ships of every size. Southward, the various riggings of so many vessels marred the skyline like tangled layers of giant rope spiderwebs. Numerous sailors, dockhands, hawkers, teamsters, and warehouse laborers hurried about. Everyday people and merchants crowded the shoreline and piers visible between the hulking vessels. Some of the people were dressed in strange clothes she’d never seen, even during her short stay in Malourné’s capital of Calm Seatt on the mainland.

Amid all this, Magiere and her companions needed to quickly find another ship heading far south down the mainland’s coast to the Suman Empire. But which, if any, would be making that long journey soon and willing to take passengers on short notice?

“Oh, seven hells!” someone growled behind her. “Why does nothing we try ever turn out to be easy?”

Magiere glanced back as her husband halted at the bottom of the ship’s walkway.

Leesil stood staring about the port with their travel chest on one shoulder, over the straps of his pack. There were even more ships anchored offshore.

All Magiere could do was sigh. At least if he could complain so dramatically, his handful of days being seasick on the voyage from Calm Seatt hadn’t worn him too much.

“I didn’t know it would be this big,” Magiere answered. “We need to find a ship leaving soon.”

Leesil grumbled something under his breath, and she shot him a scowl over her shoulder. But even after their years together, she still marveled at the sight of him.

With oblong ears less peaked than those of a full-blooded elf, he shared other traits with his mother’s people, the an’Cróan of the eastern continent. Beneath a ratty green scarf on his head, strands of silky white-blond hair hung down around his narrow tan face, which still glistened from sick sweats during the passage. Beardless like the full-blooded male elves, he was average height for a human, though short by an’Cróan standards, unlike Magiere, who was nearly as tall as he was.

Leesil’s amber-irised eyes, so slightly slanted, looked up and down the broad dock.

“Are we going into the port or not?” he asked as one of his feathery blond eyebrows arched. “I’d like solid ground under my feet for at least a day!”

At that, a rough-featured and bearded hulk stalled in his march up the dock. The big man glanced at Leesil and then at Magiere, as did a few sailors busily coiling ropes. The bearded man was dressed in a hide and fur jerkin, pants, and a fur cape, and was obviously one of the coastal Northlanders. Magiere had learned of them in her time farther north, in her travels toward the icy Wastes.

She turned her attention back to matters at hand.

The late-spring day was overly warm, and her shirt clung uncomfortably beneath her studded leather hauberk. Pushing back dampening locks of black hair, she knew from the stares of those around her that their bloodred tint probably showed under the bright sun. Worse, her overly pale skin stung in the glare.

Leesil also looked too warm in his old scarred-up hauberk of iron rings. While Magiere wore a hand-and-a-half-long falchion sheathed on her hip and a white metal battle dagger at her back beneath her cloak, a pair of strange-looking winged punching blades hung in their sheaths from Leesil’s belt, strapped down against his thighs.

She was concerned about his being so seasick, but as much as she loved him, and with all that they faced ahead, his moaning and griping over the past few days were getting to her. They faced a real urgency in finding passage off this island, for they could still be tracked and followed here. Leesil knew this already. She sighed once more, releasing tension before it got to her. She was about to assure Leesil—again—that they’d soon get ashore, when—

“Léshil? Magiere, wait!”

At a lilting female voice calling out Leesil’s an’Cróan name, Magiere looked up the ship’s walkway.

A slight young elven female stood at the ramp’s top. She wore the old cloak given to her by Wynn Hygeorht, a friend they’d all left behind in Calm Seatt. The hood’s folds crumpled across her shoulders, and the cloak’s split revealed a dusky maroon pullover. Both of these were obviously bits of human clothing scavenged along the way, like the unmanageable dark green skirt hanging all the way down to the toes of her felt boots.

Leanâlhâm waved frantically; she bore a canvas pack slung over one shoulder. This was the liveliest that Magiere had seen the girl in the three days since they’d snuck out of Calm Seatt.

“We’re not going anywhere ... yet,” Magiere called back.

As Leanâlhâm took a first step onto the ramp, a silver-gray wolf, almost bluish in the bright day, stepped to the rail’s opening.

Chap was taller than any wolf, for he wasn’t truly one. His body was that of the majay-hì, descended from wolves of ancient times inhabited by the Fay during the supposedly mythical war at the end of the world’s Forgotten History. The descendants of those first Fay-born became the guardians of the an’Cróan elves, and had barred all but their people from the vast Elven Territories on the world’s far side. But Chap was different from even those.

He was a Fay spirit, born years ago by his own choice into a majay-hì pup—a new Fay-born in the body of a Fay-descended being. He was Magiere and Leesil’s guardian and guide—and also an overbearing know-it-all.

Immediately a third figure loomed at the walkway’s top. He was as much taller than a man as Chap was when compared to a wolf. This one’s long, coarse white-blond hair had darker streaks, a sign of age among the an’Cróan. He was deeply tan, with lines crinkling the corners of his mouth and of his large, amber-irised eyes. But the feature that stood out most was the four white scars—as if from claws—running at an angle down his forehead, through one high, slanted, feathery eyebrow, to skip over his right eye and reach his cheekbone.

Neither Magiere nor Leesil could pronounce his full an’Cróan name. They’d shortened it to simply Brot’an.

Among the Anmaglâhk, that caste of assassins who viewed themselves as guardians of the an’Cróan, he was one of a handful of “shadow-grippers.” These were the masters of the caste’s skills and ways. One other had been Leesil’s deceased grandmother, Eillean, whom he’d never met. But Brot’an no longer wore his caste’s garb of forest gray hooded cloak, vestment, pants, and felt boots. Instead the full hood of his dusky wool traveler’s cloak was thrown back over a weatherworn jerkin—more scavenged human garb, like Leanâlhâm’s. But there was a reason for his change of attire.

Brot’an was at war with his own caste, but to Magiere he was still an anmaglâhk. That was as permanent as those scars on his face, and she glanced over at Leesil.

Her husband’s features hardened at the sight of the anmaglâhk master still in their midst. The hatred on Leesil’s face was plain, cold, and focused, for Brot’an had once tricked him into killing a warlord and self-proclaimed monarch. This had ignited a war in Leesil’s birthland.

Leanâlhâm started trotting down the ship’s ramp in haste, her too-long skirt flapping wildly at each thrust of her narrow feet.

“There’s no hurry,” Magiere called out. “We’re not going anywhere until— Leanâlhâm, slow down!”

Chap huffed sharply in warning and lunged after the girl. Leanâlhâm’s next hurried step came down on her skirt’s front hem, and she teetered.

“Oh—oh!” she squeaked out.

Chap quickly snagged her skirt from behind and set all four of his paws on the ramp’s surface. All that did was throw her more off balance as his claws grated on the ramp’s wood. Leanâlhâm’s pack swung off her shoulder and forward.

Magiere started for the ramp’s base as Brot’an descended behind Chap. Leesil had barely slipped the chest off his shoulder when Leanâlhâm cried out again.

“Oh, no—no, majay-hì!”

Leesil’s eyes opened wide—just before Leanâlhâm’s flying pack hit him in the gut. Gagging, he dropped the chest, and his arms wrapped around the pack as he buckled. Leanâlhâm’s skirt ripped in Chap’s teeth, and she careened headlong down the ramp in a tripping stumble. Chap tumbled backward with scraps of her skirt in his jaws, and he scrambled to get his footing. Brot’an grabbed for Chap from behind, but the dog snapped at him. Chap’s dislike of the shadow-gripper was twice Leesil’s, and Magiere tried to get in front of Leanâlhâm before ...

The girl shot face-first into the pack clutched against Leesil’s stomach.

Leesil’s mouth gaped silently as his dark skin visibly paled. Both he and Leanâlhâm toppled backward, and Magiere had to duck a mix of flailing arms and packs. She made a grab for the girl’s cloak, but her two tangled companions came to a sudden halt against a great furred hulk.

The large Northlander’s big hands under Leesil’s arms kept him from dropping onto his rump. Leanâlhâm slid off the pack and fell facedown at Leesil’s feet.

Everyone around the dock stopped and stared.

Leanâlhâm rolled over, holding her nose with one hand and whimpering. Whatever she rattled off in Elvish sounded as annoyed as it was pained. Before Magiere could help the girl up, Leesil let out a gurgling groan and clamped a hand over his mouth. At the muffled gags coming through Leesil’s hand, the big furred Northlander dropped him.

Leesil’s backside hit the dock. He instantly scrambled on all fours around the big man’s heavy boots and headed for the dock’s far edge. One sailor coiling a rope backed into a barrel and pulled his feet up, and Leesil flopped down, head hanging over the dock’s edge.

The problem was that because of his seasickness, he hadn’t yet eaten anything this day. The noise of retching dry heaves made Magiere’s stomach roll, even with all those eyes upon her and her companions. All five of them had left their homelands and crossed an ocean and then a continent in their separate ways to come halfway across a world—and they needed to get on with their task as quietly as possible.

So much, again, for passing unnoticed.

Magiere was caught between helping Leesil or Leanâlhâm. The girl sat up, eyes watering as she held her nose, and Magiere reached for her first.

“Amaguk!” someone growled in a deep voice, like a shouted warning.

Magiere spotted the fur-clad Northlander reaching for his sword. His startled eyes were on Chap as the dog stepped off the ship’s ramp ... with bits of Leanâlhâm’s skirt stuck in his teeth.

“Hold, stop,” Magiere called, trying to get the Northlander’s attention.

The big man snatched Leanâlhâm’s wrist, lifting and dragging the startled girl behind him with one hand. Magiere rushed in, one hand dropping to her falchion’s hilt as she raised her other before him, palm outward.

“No!” she barked as she pointed at Chap and then herself. “It is a pet. Mine. Pet.”

The big man grew still, eyeing her with a doubtful frown. He thumbed his nose as if it itched, and his dark eyes looked beyond her.

—It?— ... —Pet?—

Magiere flinched at those two broken words spoken into her thoughts. They’d come in two different voices, single words stolen from old memories somewhere in her head and shoved forward into her awareness. And she heard the growl behind her.

—I am—no—pet—

There was no hint of warning in those words in her head, but there was plenty in Chap’s growl. Before recent days, he’d always communicated with her and Leesil by pulling up any of their memories that he’d seen in them at least once. It was a unique talent of his, as a Fay born into a Fay-descended body. Through bits and pieces of a person’s own memories called back up, he made basic notions or commands reasonably clear ... or manipulated those unaware that he was doing so.

And then Wynn had taught Chap a new trick.

The little sage and her wayward majay-hì guardian, Shade—Chap’s daughter—had taught Chap how to isolate spoken words inside memories. In such a manner, he could certainly make his meaning more clear.

However, this new “skill” was annoying because Chap wasn’t very good at it yet. More often than not, a whirlwind of flickering, flashing images out of one’s past rose up with these memory-words because Chap couldn’t always separate just the words.

“Not now!” Magiere ordered as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

Chap flattened his ears. When he bared his teeth at her, most of the fragments of Leanâlhâm’s skirt fell from his jaws. Magiere heard the big Northlander shift suddenly.

“Leanâlhâm!” she called sharply.

The girl peeked around the Northlander’s thick legs.

“Do you still have the rope?” Magiere asked more quietly.

Leanâlhâm nodded, fumbling for the length of braided hemp around her waist. That brought a snarl from Chap.

Magiere hadn’t shared this preparation with him, but after a stupid incident in Calm Seatt when a mob had chased a “loose wolf” through the streets, she wasn’t letting it happen again. Unlike in other places they’d been, a wild animal in civilization drew too much attention in these lands.

With the rope in hand, Leanâlhâm hesitated. Chap still snarled, agitating everyone around them, and the girl peered up mournfully at Magiere.

Like Leesil’s, Leanâlhâm’s appearance was unique. Although she was only a quarter human, her coloring had been far more affected by it than his. In place of her people’s white-blond hair, hers was nearly brown.

Leanâlhâm was a beautiful girl. Her eyes had the unearthly largeness and slant of her people. But where the elves’ larger irises, even Leesil’s, were always amber, hers were like the dark, damp leaves and needles of the an’Cróan forests.

In sunlight, her eyes appeared to fluctuate between shades of topaz and verdant green. Just one more thing to call unwanted attention.

“Go on,” Magiere encouraged. “He’ll put up with it better from you than us.”

Leanâlhâm swallowed hard and started toward Chap on her knees. Chap’s growl sharpened, and Magiere whirled on him.

“Chap ... sit!” she commanded, as if he were a common dog.

Chap’s crystalline blue eyes widened as he fell deadly silent. Everyone nearby turned quiet as well, but they all still watched, including the suspicious Northlander.

“Forgive me, majay-hì,” Leanâlhâm whispered.

She spoke with an Elvish accent, but her grasp of Magiere’s native language, Belaskian, and some local Numanese was passable. Her hurt tone said more than the words.

The an’Cróan revered majay-hì, among other natural guardians of their land, as sacred. The indignity of treating one this way was likewise harder for the girl. Aside from Brot’an, Chap was the only nearby connection she had to the world she’d left behind.

Leanâlhâm slowly slipped the rope’s loop over Chap’s head, but Chap never took his eyes off Magiere.

Magiere suppressed a flinch. This was going to come back to “bite” her sooner or later.

“Are we done here?”

Magiere started at the sound of Brot’an’s voice. The anmaglâhk master stood off to the Northlander’s far side, though she hadn’t seen him slip around Chap and onto the dock.

“Yes,” she answered, and started to go after Leesil.

Brot’an stepped in first, but as he reached down toward Leesil, Chap shot out, dragging a fumbling Leanâlhâm across the dock.

Chap snarled once at Brot’an and ducked in close to Leesil, who braced himself on the tall dog and struggled up. Leesil wiped spittle from his chin and nodded once to Magiere. She bent down to pick up their travel chest, balancing it over her right shoulder so that she could hold it with one hand.

“Thank you,” she told the Northlander in local Numanese. He grunted, nodded, and turned to go up the dock on his way. But there was still many a curious eye watching a bunch of obvious outlanders with a huge wolf for a “pet.”

“Leanâlhâm, come on,” Magiere ordered.

Chap passed Magiere with another growl as he pulled the girl along, and Magiere took hold of Leanâlhâm’s free hand.

“We’re getting you out of that skirt,” she added, “and into some pants.”

“I like my skirt ... what is left of it,” Leanâlhâm answered quietly. “I can move freely in it.”

“Yes, freely, just not on your feet.”

Leanâlhâm actually huffed, but that was all, as Magiere headed for the waterfront.

“Brot’ân’duivé was speaking to our ship’s crew,” Leanâlhâm said, changing the subject. “They told him it will be difficult to locate a captain heading south this same day.”

“When did this happen?” Magiere asked, and when no answer came, she glanced down.

Leanâlhâm was anxiously looking about the port, almost as if searching for something she couldn’t find.

“Perhaps we will not leave until tomorrow,” the girl said wistfully. “Or the day after.”

Magiere blinked. Why would Leanâlhâm wish for a delay in such a busy, foreign place? She, too, looked again about the port.

“One of these captains must be willing to take passengers,” she said. “If we can find one who’ll talk to us, who’s heading in the right direction, and leaving today.”

No small feat of luck.

Fearless seagulls wheeled in the air above, some diving in almost close enough to touch as they searched for tidbits that might have been dropped on the dock. The humid air smelled of salt and kelp, old wood and oiled rope. Magiere glanced over her unburdened shoulder and looked for her husband.

Leesil’s expression darkened, his eyes on Brot’an’s back. He hated having the aging shadow-gripper’s company forced upon them. Magiere tolerated Brot’an—and openly admitted he could be useful—but Brot’an and Leesil had an ugly history that would never heal.

“Is that the best advice you could find?” Magiere asked Brot’an. “Try for a ship leaving tomorrow or later? We need something today.”

Before he could answer, a string of broken words erupted in Magiere’s head. This time all of the pieces were in her own voice out of her memories.

—Best—find—large ship—discreet—captain—reasonable price—

Magiere’s left eyed narrowed. “Chap, I told you ... you’re to warn me before you do that!”

“Is he jabbering in your head again?” Leesil called out. “What now?”

“More advice,” Magiere answered, “and picky as usual.” Then she noticed Leanâlhâm.

The girl again peered about the port, looking for something, and her pack hefted on one small shoulder caused her to teeter. They were all weighed down with too much travel gear, and this was no way to traipse up and down the piers, looking for transport. While none of them were fully fluent in the local language, Magiere and Brot’an knew enough Numanese for simple conversation.

“Leesil ...” she began carefully, not looking back. “If we get stuck here for a day or two, we’re going to need a room, someplace safe to sleep and store our gear while—”

—No— Chap cut in, but Magiere went on anyway.

“While Brot’an and I search, maybe you, Chap, and Leanâlhâm can find us an inn.”

“No.” Leesil echoed Chap’s unheard reply.

With anger rising, Magiere turned on both of them. “Neither of you will be a lick of help in talking some captain into taking passengers!”

She was well aware that neither of them trusted Brot’an, but they’d all suffered and sacrificed too much to let themselves be caught here by any pursuit. The thought of losing another day was more than she could face. Her mission was too dire and her final destination so far away.

At present, they were off the west coast of the central continent’s Numan Lands. They would travel all the way down that continent, beyond the world’s center, to il’Dha’ab Najuum, the westernmost kingdom of the Suman Empire and the seat of its emperor. In that region a vast desert crossed the entire continent, and there Magiere hoped to seek the forgotten resting place of another ancient artifact.

There were five “anchors” or “orbs,” one for each of the five elements, created and wielded over a thousand years ago by the Ancient Enemy. Magiere and a few others believed this Enemy would return, and that even now its minions—living and undead—were on the move, searching for the orbs. She had managed to find two, and Wynn Hygeorht had found one. Water, Fire, and Earth were now hidden away, and that left only Air and Spirit.

Wynn had uncovered clues that the orb of Air might lie somewhere in or near the Suman Empire. She’d suggested that Magiere go there and contact an enigmatic domin of metaology named Ghassan il’Sänke. The troublesome little sage believed that if anyone could help locate the orb, it would be il’Sänke. Whether he would was another matter. But Wynn herself, intent on using the resources of her branch of the Guild of Sagecraft to search for more clues to the whereabouts of the final orb of Spirit, had chosen to stay behind in Calm Seatt.

Magiere and Wynn had not parted on good terms—which was Wynn’s fault—but Magiere still missed her little friend’s knowledge, and even Wynn’s inability to shut up now and then. Magiere straightened, trying to keep her anger under control, as the others eyed her in silence. So far Brot’an had been particularly quiet, and that was always unnerving.

“Leesil ...” Magiere began again. “Brot’an and I speak the language best. We can move faster on our own, without all this gear. Take Chap and Leanâlhâm, and find us a place to hide out. You can meet us later at the end of this pier, midafternoon. If we’ve found something leaving tonight, we’ll board, and if not, at least we’ll have quarters.”

Leesil’s expression remained taut.

Magiere knew he wasn’t up to being bullied. Recently both Leesil and Chap had questioned her judgment with good reason, but this time she was right.

Leesil glanced at Leanâlhâm. Shifting his pack farther onto his back, he reached for Brot’an’s. The old assassin slipped his pack off and handed it over, and then Leesil took the travel chest from Magiere and balanced it on his shoulder.

“By midday at the pier’s end,” Leesil said coldly. “No later.”

—No—I will—come—

The words rose unbidden in Magiere’s head again, and she looked down at Chap.

“Just find us an inn, while I try to find a ship.”

Neither Chap nor Leesil looked happy, but they didn’t argue further.

“Maybe it is not bad if we do not leave tonight,” Leanâlhâm said again.

When Magiere looked into the girl’s unusual eyes, Leanâlhâm appeared to realize how odd she sounded, given their situation.

“Maybe it would be good to rest one night on land,” she added hurriedly.

Still shifting and hefting too many packs, Leesil raised one white-blond eyebrow in suspicion. Brot’an actually frowned and shook his head once. Magiere fought against sighing yet again as she realized what this was really about.

Leanâlhâm still hoped Osha might catch up.

Osha was the other absent companion, though he should’ve been here, as he’d been traveling with Leanâlhâm and Brot’an. From what Magiere understood, he’d been sort of a half-trained anmaglâhk. But he, too, no longer dressed as one of the caste, and he was definitely no longer part of the Anmaglâhk. Why was another unknown, and apparently something separate from the war Brot’an had started with his caste.

More than two years ago, the leader of the Anmaglâhk—Most Aged Father—had learned of Magiere’s uncovering the first orb. He’d had his caste hunting her ever since. He wanted the orb badly enough to kill without hesitation and even to sacrifice his own underlings.

A team of anmaglâhk had followed her all the way across the world. They’d been lying in wait, watching Wynn’s guild branch, until Magiere had returned to the sage not long ago. With the aid of her companions and Wynn’s allies, Magiere had managed to slip from her pursuers’ reach back in the port city of Calm Seatt.

Most Aged Father’s followers wouldn’t give up so easily, though she still didn’t know why Most Aged Father wanted the orb so badly. How much he even knew about the device was unknown. Brot’an had also come to the Numan Lands and swore he was here to protect her from his caste. And more, for reasons unknown, he’d brought Leanâlhâm and Osha. But as Magiere, Leesil, and Chap had escaped from Calm Seatt, Osha had been instructed to meet them on their ship. He never came, and Magiere knew exactly why he’d remained behind.

They all knew Osha had stayed behind for Wynn.

Those two had a past, a personal attachment, and Osha’s failure to join them had left Leanâlhâm wounded. Now the girl seemed to harbor a secret hope that he would catch up.

Magiere didn’t know what to say. Was it better to let Leanâlhâm live with the comfort of false hope for a while or force her to face the truth?

“I’d like a good night on land, too,” Leesil said, relieving Magiere of the decision, and he turned his eyes from her to the girl. “Come on, let’s get to it.”

Leanâlhâm nodded sadly, and as Leesil headed toward the waterfront, she followed. Chap rumbled once, but Magiere waved him off.

“Go on. You know I’m right.”

Still rumbling, he, too, followed after Leesil, but Magiere watched Leanâlhâm as Leesil led the girl off by the hand.

“And get her some pants!” Magiere called after them, though no one answered. Whether they all left tonight, tomorrow, or half a moon from now, she was certain of one thing.

Osha wouldn’t be joining them.